


The Taste of Apple Pie

by GuenVanHelsing



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Birthdays that aren't birthdays, F/M, Ghosts, Halloween, Nothing explicit here, Possession, Road Trips, Rowdies collecting all the loose ends of the universe, Vogel is a Magpie ofc he wants to pick up Shiny Things, Vomiting, sorta soft drummerwolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-11-28 18:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuenVanHelsing/pseuds/GuenVanHelsing
Summary: Sometimes an innocent gift can turn out to be so much more...





	The Taste of Apple Pie

**Author's Note:**

> special thank you to [klayr-de-gall](https://klayr-de-gall.tumblr.com/) who made this amazing art to go with it!!! <3 <3 <3 such a joy to work with you!!!!!!

Six Rowdies in a van was pretty comfortable. A little tight on the space at times, but comfortable. 

Six Rowdies and _ two dogs, _ one of which was probably four times the size of the other, was-- 

A little _ less _ comfortable. 

Martin also wasn’t a fan of the regular stops they had to make for small doggie bladders -- although Amanda had seemed particularly relieved anytime she could bolt for a bathroom without needing to ask, since they were already stopped to let the dogs wander -- and he also wasn’t a fan that normal people cast them all dirty looks unless they kept the dogs on leashes. 

They were _ good _ dogs, they didn’t _ need _ leashes. Hell, they responded to his whistle faster than his boys did, and were quicker to jump back in the van. 

He had a feeling that was just an excuse to get the good seats, since the only one the dogs would easily relinquish their chosen ensprawlment spots for was ‘Manda. 

And Fluffernutter, despite her increased size since her arrival to the Oh No Mobile, still thought she was a little old lapdog, and preferred Martin’s lap more than the rest of them. 

Which would be fine, if she didn’t try to crawl onto his lap while he was _ driving. _

“One of these days, you _ will _ be th’ death of us,” he grumbled, pushing down on her fluffy head and getting a slobbery swipe of her tongue over his fingers for his trouble. Amanda just laughed at him from the passenger seat, Rapunzel on her lap, not a care in the world, and Martin couldn’t help smiling a bit in return. 

Yeah, he wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. 

“I gotta pee,” said Amanda. 

“I want _ fries,” _ said Cross, from somewhere in the back, and the inevitable chant of _ fries fries fries _ immediately picked up from the rest of the Rowdies, and Amanda was cackling, waving Rapunzel’s paws in the air as she joined in. 

“Fries an’ pit stop,” said Martin, and the chant devolved into howls and cheers, and plenty of barking. 

Come to think of it, _ Martin _ wanted fries. Something salty, at least.

Maybe a burger. 

Maybe a burger _ and _ fries. 

With _ cheese. _

It wasn’t hard to find a diner, and there was even a _ Dogs Welcome! _ sign on the door, so Fluffernutter and Rapunzel scrambled through the door on their heels, and Martin herded the lot of them over to the tables -- booths were cosy but too _ confined, _ couldn’t stand it anymore -- and Gripps and Cross shoved two of the tables to cobble together a table large enough for all six of them to sit and for the dogs to sit comfortably by their boots. 

Fluffernutter was sitting on Martin’s right boot, specifically, her tail whacking the leg of his chair with every wag, and Rapunzel had her chin on his left boot, looking up at him forlornly as if by chance he was going to drop a fry for her to eat. 

...he may have given her one already. 

Maybe two. 

A third wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

“You’re a big softie,” said Amanda, bumping her shoulder into his arm, and he dropped two fries instead of one -- the dogs took advantage to eat one each. “You spoil them.” 

Martin _ hmph _ed. “Ain’t spoilin’ them.” 

“They’ll get _ used _ to it,” said Amanda, “and then they’ll be all over you begging _ all _ the time.” 

“They do that anyway.” 

She snorted. “Softie.” She nudged his leg with her boot. “Aren’t you gonna eat any?” He shrugged, and she plucked the packet of fries from his hand. “More for me, then, if you’re just gonna give ‘em to the bottomless pits.” 

Martin stole a fry back, and she stuck her tongue out at him. 

Oh, he loved her. 

...he loved her. 

It hit him like a sack of bricks, just then, that his love for Amanda wasn’t just the love he had for all of the Rowdies, but-- 

\--something _ else, _ too. 

Martin shoved back his chair, the dogs reluctantly getting off of his boots as he rose. “Need a smoke,” he said, when Amanda looked up at him with concern in her dark eyes, and she nodded, glancing over the other Rowdies -- bickering over whether diner burgers were better than burgers from Beast’s borgerbush -- and Martin took his chance to slip out of the diner. 

Rapunzel was standing at his heels when he swung the diner door shut behind him, and he sighed, digging out a cigarette and his lighter, and gestured to the patch of grass near the door. “G’on, then, do y’r thing,” he said, and the corgi darted over to the grass to sniff out whatever needed sniffing. 

Martin lit his cigarette and breathed in the smoke, letting it ground him in a way the fresh air sometimes couldn’t. It was a stupid habit, but it hadn’t killed him yet, and he was too damn unsettled sometimes to give it up. 

The door swung open again, the hinges squeaking loud enough to Rapunzel to lift her head curiously and for Martin to spin, eyes narrowed, to see who was coming, but-- 

\--it was just Vogel, and he relaxed, breathing out a huff of smoke. “Y’okay, l’il bird?” 

Vogel bounded past him to scoop up Rapunzel, lifting her up in the air and spinning around with her in his outstretched arms before pulling her snug against his chest and planting an exaggerated kiss right on her snout -- before making a disgusted face. “Kisses are still gross,” he informed Martin, and the blonde cracked a smile around his cigarette at that. “Are _ you _ okay?” 

Martin tilted his head. “‘m fine, Vogel.” 

“Okay,” said Vogel, “cool.” And he carefully set Rapunzel back down on the ground, and fished something out of his pocket, holding it out to Martin. “This is for you!” 

Martin accepted it, opening his hand to see what it was-- 

\--a shiny rock. 

A precious stone of some kind, rather large, with the metal hook for a chain embedded in what was probably the top of it. 

It shimmered. 

It was _ warm-- _

“Happy birthday,” said Vogel brightly, and bounced off back to the diner door, disappearing inside before Martin could even say thank you, or ask how Vogel knew it was his birthday-- 

Martin’s brow furrowed. 

It wasn’t his birthday. 

His birthday was in the spring, and his mom had made pie instead of cake, with fresh peaches and too much sugar and Martin and Oz had laughed at how sweet it was but devoured it anyway-- 

_ \--his birthday was right around Halloween, when pumpkin spice and apple cider could be found in every store, and the cake was always a little too dry, but his friend’s smile as he handed him the little homemade cake was worth more than any expensive gift could be-- _

Martin shook his head, clearing his throat, and Rapunzel whined, leaning hard against his leg, and he frowned down at her. “Th’ hell was that, princess?” 

She didn’t seem to know, either. 

\--

Martin had a headache. 

He’d had one since he’d woken up too damn early and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, and despite his best efforts, it still plagued him by the afternoon, after they’d been driving for hours. 

The sun flashed through the trees they were driving by, the glare flaring right into his face, and Martin winced, stomping on the brakes, and swung the van to the side of the road, cranking it into park, and closed his eyes. 

“Pit stop, pit stop!” crowed Vogel, and Martin heard the doors creak open and the loud stomps of Rowdy boots as they disembarked, and finally, blessed, _ blessed _ quiet-- 

-_ -trees rushed by, flashes of orange mixed with the green, and red, so much red, and he could barely keep his eyes open-- _

“Martin?”

Martin blinked, his vision fuzzy and orange for a moment, then it cleared, and he pushed his glasses back up his nose, squinting through them at the person standing by the open window of the van’s door. “‘Manda.” 

“You okay?” she said, resting her arms on the window, and she had to be standing on her tiptoes to reach that height. “That was a pretty wild stop, even for you.” 

“Don’t like my drivin’, Drummer?” he drawled, and ran a hand through his hair. The headache had eased, a bit, but still lingered enough right between his eyes to be uncomfortable. 

“Nah, you’re driving’s fine,” said Amanda, and poked him in the arm. _ Hard. _ “It’s the _ braking _ bit that’s kinda over the top. So. Are you okay?” 

“Just peachy,” said Martin-- 

_ \--sweet peaches in pie-- _

_ \--apple pie-- _

_ \--slice upon slice of apple pie, he couldn’t stop eating, he couldn’t stop crying, he-- _

“Jus’ peachy,” said Martin again, quieter. 

“Uh huh,” said Amanda, and by her tone -- and her expression -- he could see she didn’t believe him in the slightest. 

“Could use a nap,” he said finally, when she didn’t stop staring at him, and that earned him one of her radiant smiles. “Move, Drummer, y’re blockin’ my exit.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you drama queen,” said Amanda, stepping out of the way so he could open the door and hop down, and she immediately wound her arm around one of his. “Let’s get you a nap, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

A nap sounded good. 

A nap on one of the ratty couches they’d crammed into the back of the van and had dragged out into a nice patch of sunlight sounded even better, and that’s where Martin found himself, the sun warming him better than any blanket, and his eyes slipped shut as Fluffernutter flopped onto his legs and began to snore-- 

_ \--the car kept moving, long after he had wished it to have stopped. He should have stopped, should have let himself rest, but he didn’t have much time, and there was still much too far left to travel-- _

_ \--he could still taste the-- _

_ \--peach-- _

_ \--apple pie, he’d eaten the entire thing, and he shouldn’t have, but it was the last thing he had made him and he had to savour even that last taste-- _

Martin rolled off of the sofa and landed in the dirt, eyes snapping open as Fluffernutter barked her displeasure. “Th’ fuck,” he muttered, and spat in the dirt, because he could still taste apples and peaches and apples and-- 

“Stormy sea horses, huh?” said Cross, crouching next to him, Gripps right at his shoulder, and Martin pushed himself up, eyes darting past them to verify that Vogel, Beast, and Amanda were there, too, and safe -- they were dancing around a small campfire, shouting and hollering, and Martin was a little surprised he’d slept through that. 

Maybe that’s what had woken him up. 

_ “Bad _ sea horse storms,” agreed Gripps, offering his hand, and Martin took it, allowing the other Rowdy to pull him to his feet-- 

\--and he winced, because the damned headache was back. “Bad,” he agreed, pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

He couldn't shake the taste of apples. 

"Boys!" Martin moved for the van, the Rowdies gathering up their stuff and kicking dirt over the fire, and the restless energy under his skin eased a bit as they got moving again. 

"This a… holistic sorta thing?" said Amanda, elbowing Cross so she could squeeze into the passenger seat next to him. "You seem like you've got somewhere to be."

"Don't know yet," Martin bit out, the words weird in his mouth, and she cast him a strange look. "Just a feelin'."

\--

There was a sign for a farm stand, and a smaller one advertising fresh apple pie, and Martin spun the wheel to send the van careening over to the side of the road in a spray of dirt. 

"We stopping for lunch?" said Amanda hopefully, and Martin shrugged. "D’you think they'll have cider?"

"Spiders?" said Beastie, and Cross tugged gently on a strand of her bright hair. 

"Snakes and ladders, Rainbow," he said, and she nodded seriously before following Vogel and Gripps out of the van. "Boss?"

"Yeah, we're coming," said Amanda, patting his arm, and he tugged her hair too before getting out, leaving the door ajar. "Martin?" 

"Drummer," he drawled, and she grinned. 

"Now you sound like you," she said with a smile, and leaned over to bump her shoulder against his. "Cmon, I want cider."

Martin followed Amanda to the farm stand, reining in the Rowdies from starting a food fight with pumpkins and apples, and--

_ \--fresh apple pie, loaded with cinnamon-- _

Martin coughed, and lit a cigarette, huffing out smoke and wandering down the stand, ignoring the wide-eyed stare of the lady guarding the stand. 

"Tha' apple pie?" he said, voice gruff, and she handed the entire pie pan to him in exchange for a few crumpled bills.

The smell of it calmed the shakiness in his hands, at least, and he took it and the plastic fork she gave him back to the van, leaning back against the cooling hood and stabbed the fork into the pie.

He took a bite, the flavours exploding on his tongue--

_ \--the last bite of the pie was delicious but bittersweet, in knowing that there would never be another, and he licked his lips, tasting the salt of his tears with the cinnamon and apple-- _

"--ound some cider," said Amanda, tapping her bottle against his pie pan, and he gripped it tight, well aware that he'd almost dropped it. "Trade you?" 

Martin handed her the pie, and washed the taste from his mouth with her cider. 

"This is _ good," _ said Amanda, offering it back, and Martin shook his head -- one taste was enough. 

_ \--never been enough, not for-- _

He coughed on smoke, and lit another cigarette.

"You want any more of this?" she said, offering him a forkful, and he leaned down to take the fork in his mouth, scraping the bite of pie off with his teeth. 

_ \--couldn't even smell cinnamon without thinking of him-- _

_ \--dark hair and a swell smile-- _

_ \--he could barely remember the shade of grey his eyes were-- _

"Boss, _ boss, _ it's the boss," said Cross, too loud next to his ear, and Martin blinked-- 

Cross's eyes were grey, his hair lighter--

Martin shook his head, breathing in--

_ Drummer. _

She was screaming, the cider spilled on the ground, Gripps had the pie tilted in his hands, and there was _ fire, _ blue and vicious, choking her and drowning her and she was--

Martin breathed in, as the other Rowdies did, Cross's hand on his arm and Vogel grabbing Amanda to keep her from falling, and then the fire was fading, devoured by the Rowdies, and Martin--

_ \--could see the light fading his eyes, the pure shock of it as blue faded to grey, and Amanda screamed-- _

Martin gasped, staggering, and Amanda wrenched free of Vogel's grasp to sink to her knees and _ heave, _cider and bile spilling from her mouth to the ground. 

"What the _ hell _ was that," she said, letting Beastie pull her to her feet, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "What the _ hell." _

"I saw that, Boss!" said Vogel, but he looked like he was going to be sick, too. "Did you share heads with us?"

"Felt like it," said Amanda, and turned to Martin. "You saw it, right?" 

"Outright downtime," said Gripps. 

"Bad shapes," said Cross, then added quietly, "almost." 

Martin dropped the cigarette that had burnt down to the butt and stubbed it out in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "Wasn't real," he said quietly. "Won't happen."

"Signed and sealed?" said Cross worriedly, and Martin pulled him close in a one-armed hug. 

"Ain't happenin'," he said firmly. 

He wasn't going to die.

He had to protect his family, so he _ couldn't. _

And anyway, that vision--

\--felt more like a memory--

"Boss, you're checked out again." 

The dogs were whining in the van, as on edge as they were, and the universe was out of _ sync, _ for a moment, and then Amanda was gripping his arm, her fingers just below Cross's. 

"I won't let that happen," she said, her voice a growl worthy of any Rowdy. 

"I know," he said softly, and the taste of peaches was overwhelming for a moment as she squeezed his arm. "Should let the dogs out."

"Beastie babes," crooned Beastie, loping over to the van and yanking open the door, and the dogs bounced out, barking excitedly.

The lady at the stand was _ definitely _ giving them the stink eye, but Martin just patted Fluffernutter's head when she rammed it against his thigh and whistled for Rapunzel to get away from the pumpkins. The dogs did their business, and followed Gripps into the van with the rest of the pie, and Martin checked each of them, surreptitiously, that they were okay, before getting back in the driver's seat, glancing at the carved jack o'lantern sitting on a haybale nearby.

Pain spiked right between his eyes, and Martin was gone.

\--

Martin didn't say a word as he put the van into drive, easing it out into the road with more care than usual -- not that Amanda and her still-queasy stomach were going to complain about that. 

It was just _ odd. _

He didn't even say anything when Vogel bounced to the front of the van to yank on his sleeve and turn the music up, just smiled slightly and kept driving, and Vogel retreated to the back, howling along to the music. 

Fluffernutter whined, nosing at Amanda's elbow, and she reached down to skritch the dog's head--

Fluffernutter sniffed at Martin, threw back her head, and _ howled. _

Amanda had never heard the big dog make a sound like that -- from the sharp inhales of the Rowdies behind her, she could guess that they hadn't, either.

Martin slammed on the brakes, thuds and shouts rising from the back, and the can was barely in park before the blonde was bailing out of the van to stumble to the side of the road, all too familiar retching noises reaching her ears.

"Shit," she said, and scrambled out of her seat, dodging Fluffernutter and leaping over Martin's seat to hit the ground running. Since when did Rowdies get stomach bugs? "Martin?" 

"What," whispered Martin, his voice raw as she dropped to her knees beside where he crouched, one hand in the dirt and the other wrapped around his middle, "th' fuck." He stared at her, eyes pale in the dim light. "Th' hell are we, Drummer?"

"You drove us here," she said slowly, aware of the other Rowdies hurrying over, and Martin shook his head slowly, still looking confused. 

"I didn'--" he started, then broke off as an awful heave shuddered through him, and he threw up again. 

"Martin--"

He lifted his head, and his eyes were dark. "Get back in the van," he said, his voice flat, and Amanda stared at him.

"The fuck, dude," she said. "You just _ puked." _

Martin stood.

His eyes were dark.

"Get in," he said, but his voice was flat, no hint of the familiar drawl, and something was wrong with her Martin. 

He took a step, coughed, and suddenly the other Rowdies were crowding close to him, not touching, just _ close, _ and their eyes were _ glowing, _ a soft blue, almost white, flickers of it trailing after them in whisps as they moved.

Martin's eyes were dark.

"No," he growled, but Gripps caught his arm, and Cross caught the other, and Vogel snuck in viper fast to snatch something from Martin's hand.

A rock, shiny, and _ wrong wrong wrong-- _

"Vogel, _ drop it!" _ yelled Amanda, and the pure fear in her voice had the youngest Rowdy opening his hand to drop the rock to the ground, the light in his eyes bright. 

"...th' fuck," said Martin, and his eyes were bright for one gleaming moment before they slipped shut and he slumped in Cross's arms.

\--

"--oss, is he breathing?" 

Martin sucked in a deep breath, trying to sit up, and knocking his head right into someone's chest, his glasses sliding sideways on his face. 

"Lemon squeezy," said Cross, and he was _ concerned, _ strong enough that Martin could taste it like an aftertaste of a shitty beer in the back of his mouth. 

That could've been the puking, though. 

He coughed, and Vogel's face was right in front of his in an instant. "Boss?!" said Vogel. "That was scary, boss."

"Didn' mean t' scare ya." Martin cleared his throat, and shoved his glasses back up his nose. 

Something glinted out of the corner of his eye, and he stiffened. "What--"

"Vogel got it off of you," said Amanda. Her eyes were sharp, the kind of witchakookoo vibes strong again, just like in Wendimoor. "It feels _ bad, _ Martin."

Rapunzel whined, and Fluffernutter was flat on the ground, tail sweeping restlessly over the dirt, but both dogs staying put when Beastie murmured at them. 

Martin glanced at Amanda. "Sad."

Amanda stared at him. "What?"

"It's-- _ he's _ sad," said Martin, and all of them were staring at him now. "Th'-- man. He's sad." 

"Stranger danger?" said Gripps, and Martin shrugged. 

"That why you been so weird?" said Amanda, gesturing at the rock. "That thing?" 

Martin pushed himself up, Cross relinquishing his grip when the blonde was sitting steady on his own, although his hand just moved to Martin's shoulder, crouching next to him. "Wouldn' touch it if I were you." 

Vogel's face crumpled. "I didn't mean for it to be bad," he said, and Martin reached for him, grateful for Cross at his back when Vogel threw himself into his arms, and Martin held him tight. "It was just for your birthday--" 

"It's your birthday?" said Amanda, shocked, and Martin shook his head.

"Ain't mine," he said. "It's _ his. _ Th' guy in the stone." 

"Tiny guy," said Gripps.

"Itty bitty," said Cross. "Wants something."

"Martin?" said Gripps curiously. 

"Well, he can't _ have _ you," said Amanda sharply. "We got dibs, right, boys?"

The Rowdies howled an affirmative, and Vogel buried his face in Martin's shoulder. 

Martin held him tighter. "It's his birthday soon," he said quietly. "He lost somebody." 

"You're _ our _ somebody," said Cross.

"What he said," said Amanda, jerking a thumb at the taller Rowdy, then paused. "Why does he want you?"

“Finders keepers?” said Cross, and Martin shrugged. 

“He’s lookin’ f’r somethin’,” he said, and glanced at the rock. “I think. Ain’t sure.” 

He had a feeling--

“Martin, _ don’t,” _ said Amanda, her hand snapping out to catch his wrist before he could pick up the rock again. “That thing-- it _ did _ something to you.” 

Martin didn’t say _ I can handle it, _ because he wasn’t sure if he _ could. _

Wished it were that easy, but-- 

He cleared his throat, and breathed through Vogel’s iron grip around his ribs, and tried to ignore the lingering taste of apple pie in his mouth. “Ain’t right t’ just _ leave _ him.” 

“Universe wouldn’t have put him in our paths if it wasn’t _ important, _ right?” said Amanda, only she was frowning, not her usual calm acceptance of her _ leaf in the wind _ status. She took a breath, and the Rowdies held theirs, Martin knowing in the way that each of his boys did that what their boss said next was important. “I know we’re-- supposed to fix broken things. In the universe. _ For _ the universe,” she said, and her eyes were _ hard, _ sharp and not quite _ there, _ her pupils stretched and _ weird, _ and she continued, “but I will _ not _ allow you -- _ any _ of you -- to be broken for it.” 

She blinked, and her eyes were normal again, and the Rowdies could breathe again. 

“Won’t be broken,” said Martin. 

Blackwing had already broken him. 

Broken _ all _ of them. 

Except their Drummer, and Rainbow, and he wouldn’t let Blackwing hurt them. 

Not ever.

“I’ll fight him,” said Vogel, finally sitting back, his fingers still gripping Martin’s vest. “I found him, it’s my fault, I’ll fight him--” 

“Don’t need t’ fight this one, little bird,” said Martin. At least, he didn't think they did. He hoped, anyway. "We'll-- figure it out."

Somehow.

But--

He didn't want to put his Rowdies in danger.

Now, that was stupid thinking, and he knew it -- could feel it in the angry rumble in Cross's chest, the watchful eyes of Gripps, knew they knew he was figuring up to do something stupid, but--

He didn't want to put them in danger.

"This ain't your fight," he said, and he knew even before he finished the sentence that Cross was going to swat him.

The taller Rowdy sure as hell did.

"Stupid talk," said Cross, and he couldn't have been any clearer. "Nothin' like a family feud, okay?"

"Okay," said Martin, because he was pretty sure all of them could take him in a tussle, if they really tried, and he was too wiped from whatever the rock had done to fight them. "Ain't goin' nowhere."

"Good," said Amanda, and squeezed his hand. “We’ll go with you,” she said.

He didn’t ask where, just nodded, because she was the Boss, and she was his Drummer, and she had more experience with the whacko brain shit than he did.

That he could remember, anyway.

Maybe if he could just remember--

"Martin," said Amanda, and he blinked, the whiteness fading away from his thoughts, and she squeezed his hand again. “What’s your plan?” 

Martin didn’t _ have _ a plan. “Ask him what he wants,” he said, because it seemed a logical course of action, not that he made a habit too often of _ being _ logical. Seemed alright now, though. 

"How're you gonna go about that?" said Amanda, and Martin glanced at the rock, still sitting in the dirt near them. "Oh, no."

"You got a better plan, Drummer?"

"This is stupid," she said, but she didn't stop him this time when he reached for the rock. His fingers closed around it, the surface smooth and cold as the first time, and--

_ \--hurts hurts hurts why did it hurt so bad-- _

Martin dropped the rock, breath knocked out of him again, and Cross was still behind him, doing the most of the work to keep him upright, and the Rowdies were huddled close again.

"What was that," said Amanda flatly, and Martin bared his teeth in a snarl, snatching up the rock again--

_ \--pure apple pie-- _

_ \--the taste of peaches-- _

_ \--sweet georgian-- _

_ \--crisp-- _

_ \--peaches-- _

_ \--apples-- _

_ \--peach pie with a splash of bourbon, don't tell your father, he won't mind-- _

Martin gasped, and shuddered, every inch of him freezing and then not, all at once, and he rolled his shoulders until the awful feeling faded.

It was that whiteness again, making him bristle and remember, too vividly, all that time trapped in Blackwing, but--

He wasn't alone.

A man stood across from him, in the whiteness, the blankness, staring off into empty space.

Everything smelled like apples, cider, and pie, and Martin thought of his mom's peach pie and took a deep breath.

"Who are you?" he said, and the stranger's head whipped around, eyes widening when he saw him. "What d'you want?"

"Who are _ you?" _echoed the stranger, shocked. "I haven't-- no one's ever-- how did you get here?"

"Y'been sneakin' around in my head," said Martin drily. "Thought I'd return the favour." He uncurled his fingers, showing him the pale, glimmering rock in his hand. "This. What is this?"

"Oh," breathed the stranger, taking a step forward, fingers hovering just over Martin's hand, not touching. "That's-- why, that's a gift. For someone. Important to me."

"Y'ain't given it t' them, then," said Martin, and the stranger shook his head, face falling.

"I was going to," he said. "But I-- didn't try hard enough, I suppose. And then it was too late. He was gone. And then I was, before I could-- do anything about it. You know?"

Martin didn't know, but he knew a thing or two about not trying hard enough. "What do y'want, then?"

"I want--" The stranger paused. "I don't know what I want. Not-- not anymore. You see? It's been so long..."

"Th'hell is with you and that damned pie?"

That startled the stranger, for certain. "The pie? Oh. _ Oh. _ I-- he-- he used to make the most delicious apple pie. He made one for me, right near the end, but it was-- he was gone. Before we could share it." He frowned. "I can-- taste peaches? Why peaches?"

Martin ignored the question, and shook the rock in his hand. "What is this, then? Ain't for a pie."

"It was-- supposed to be a necklace," said the man quietly. "It's his favourite stone, you see. I found it in this gift shop, while I was traveling-- avoiding my problems, as one does, right? And I bought it. But the chain broke, and he was baking pie, and I went to replace the chain, but when I came back--" He shook his head. "He was gone. It was over."

"He died."

"He died," said the stranger. "Happy birthday to me, right? Jesus.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I just wanted to give him something special, because he was special to _ me, _ but-- He was dead when I got home, and no amount of medical magic was going to bring him back."

Martin nodded. "Peach pie ain't real no more, either," he said quietly, as close to saying _ she's dead she's dead she's dead it's my fault _without saying it. "Don't mean they don't live on."

"That makes no sense," said the stranger shortly, brow furrowing. "They're dead, we're dead, so what does it matter?"

"I ain't dead," said Martin, and the stranger stared at him. "Th' awake me, I'm-- holdin' your rock. You were-- possessin' me, or something."

"Oh," said the stranger. "Oh, sweet Jesus, I thought I was-- you know, being reincarnated, or something. Jesus, I didn't think you were-- is that why the peaches...?"

"Strong memory."

"Ah. Then-- perhaps I owe you an apology."

Martin shrugged. "Don' need one," he said, although his boys did, his Rowdies, who had been scared for him, and he hated that. "What do y'want, then? If y're dead."

"To move on, I suppose," said the stranger, tilting his head. "Wouldn't we all? But-- more than that, I-- I just-- miss him. I want to see him again."

"Gotta move on t'do that, don'tcha?"

"I suppose," said the stranger, "but I haven't quite figured out how to get beyond this part. The darkness."

"It's light," said Martin. "All whiteness."

The stranger shook his head. "I can barely see you, and that's just 'cause you're glowing like crazy. All-- blue, and stuff. It's damned dark in here."

Martin glanced around at the whiteness, the endlessness of it, and wondered if that whiteness was his, or a lingering remnant of Blackwing.

He shook his head, and said, "Y'want t' see him? Where is he?"

"Dead and buried," said the stranger bitterly. "There's no seeing him now. Unless--" He stepped closer, searching Martin's face. "Could you-- bring me, or, er, the rock, then, to where he's buried? So I can-- be with him? Even if our bodies are empty and separate, maybe-- maybe me being there, even just as this, I could-- be closer to him."

"Where?" said Martin.

The stranger told him, and--

_ \--pain pain pain pain oh god why did it hurt so bad to die why wouldn't it just end why did it hurt-- _

_ \--she was humming, some old song he knew she liked from the radio, slowly trimming the dough around the pie crust to prepare it for the oven-- _

_ \--all he could smell was peaches-- _

_ \--all he could hear was-- _

"--on't you dare be dead, asshole," said Amanda, and Martin breathed in, deep, tasting clear air and stale beer, and--

there were his Rowdies, crowded so close, Amanda's small hands cradling his face.

Martin lifted his hand, the rock glinting between his fingers, and tapped her arm. "I know where we need t' go," he said quietly.

"I'm driving," said Amanda, in a tone that brooked zero argument, and he wouldn't have argued with her, anyway. He was tired. So, so tired. "Who-- what was that? Where were you?" Her fingers were pressing firmly against his skin, like she was trying to keep him from drifting away, trying to keep him grounded. "I couldn't-- I couldn't follow you. I couldn't _ find _you, Martin."

"I'll always come back t' you," he said, and she sniffed, teary-eyed, and he caught her wrist in his hand. "Always, Drummer."

“You better keep that promise,” she said, and hauled him up. “C’mon, boys, let’s go before the dogs think we’ve forgotten them.” 

\--

Amanda drove, and Martin gave her directions, from his spot on the floor, sitting with his back to Cross’s long legs and his shoulder pressed against the dash, his own legs stretched out under the dangling chains. Fluffernutter had flopped down on top of said legs, and refused to be moved, so there he stayed, a little uncomfortable but also unwilling to move. Rapunzel would squeeze past the big dog’s huge fluffy ass to nose at his hand occasionally for a skritch behind the ears, but she was content to waddle to the back again to be cooed over by Rainbow. 

“You sure we’re going the right away?” said Amanda, as the roads got skinnier and gravelier, and Martin nodded, even if he wasn’t touching the stone just then -- he could _ tell, _ by the cloying smell of apples and cinnamon that the others didn’t seem to notice. “What are we looking for?” 

“That,” said Cross, pointing across the dashboard, and Martin didn’t have to ask how Cross _ knew _ \-- all the Rowdies were humming with the knowing of it, the stone in his hand warm and Cross beside him warmer still. 

Amanda sent the van to the side of the road, the poor Oh No Mobile rocking and jolting on the uneven earth, and jammed it into park. “This right, Martin?” 

Martin pushed Fluffernutter off of his legs and stood, the chains brushing over his back as he crouched between the seats and peered out. “Yeah, we’re here,” he said, and his voice sounded distant to his ears. 

Everything felt kind of distant, actually, and he barely realized he was moving before he was out of the van, heavy boots landing in the dirt. He could hear voices, could feel his Rowdies, but he couldn't focus on them, not when the cemetery was laid out before him, before them.

This was the place.

"Martin?" said Amanda, and she was right at his side, her hand on his arm, fingers warm--

\--or maybe he was cold, he couldn't tell.

"Old souls," said Gripps suddenly, too loud, too close, and Martin's fingers flexed, the rock tumbling into the grass, and he stumbled, Amanda's hand gripping his arm hard.

"Martin," she said sharply, and he had to close his eyes, take a breath, before he could lift his head to look at her.

"It's strong here," he said. "Th'-- memories."

"Whose memories?"

"His," said Martin, and picked up the stone again--

_ \--he hadn't meant to come, really, but his muscle memory certainly knew the way to take him there, and so there he was, hands gripping the steering wheel of his shitty little car, engine rumbling still and the cemetery laid out before him-- _

Martin shook his head to clear it, snarling, and gripped Amanda's hand, her fingers entwining with his without question. "This way," he said, and led them through the graves, the old crumbling gravestones and the newer ones, sharply cut and angular. Rapunzel and Fluffernutter were loose, loping amongst the stones silently, stopping to sniff only on occasion and sticking close to the Rowdies, and they found the grave first.

Martin didn't have to say which one it was -- the dogs knew, and his Rowdies knew, when his feet stopped in front of one of the newer headstones, the name Parker cut into the stone and old, dried flowers still set at the base.

"Parker," said Amanda, and--

_ \--he hadn't been there since the funeral, hadn't dared, and all he wanted was a little more time with him, his Parker, his love, if only he'd-- _

Martin coughed, Amanda's fingers burning hot against his, and he couldn't let go. "'Manda," he choked, and she was there, gripping his hand, the Rowdies crowding close behind them--

_ \--there were apples, apples everywhere-- _

_ \--he couldn't remember when he'd-- _

_ \--more apples-- _

"Stop," said Amanda, and the taste of stale smoke and those sour gummy candies she liked so much flooded his mouth, overwhelming the taste of apple pie. "Stop, you're hurting him."

The stranger was standing there, faded, but there, watching them. "Not intentionally," he said. "I just-- I wanted--"

"You can't have him," said Amanda firmly. "He's mine. He's _ ours." _

"...okay," said the stranger, and glanced at the grave. "You found him."

"You brought us here," said Martin. "Here we are. What do y'want with this, then?"

The stranger sighed, stroking a hand over the top of the marble headstone, his fingers passing through the leaves littered there. "I just want to see him again," he said quietly.

"So see him," said Amanda, and she stepped in front of Martin, gripping his other hand, the one holding the stone--

_ \--candied, fake fruit flavours-- _

_ \--apple pie-- _

_ \--a shared beer with sugar from powdered donuts still lingering on the rim-- _

"There," said Amanda, and there was another man standing across the gravestone from the stranger, dark and startled. "There's your Parker."

"Jordan?" whispered the newcomer, Parker, and the stranger -- Jordan? -- gasped.

"It's you," he breathed, stepping around the gravestone, and Parker moved to meet him in the middle, embracing each other firm and strong--

_ \--"My love," said Parker-- _

_ \--"I missed you so much, oh my love--" _

_ "--don't leave me again--" _

_ "--oh love--" _

Martin dropped the stone.

It tumbled into the dried grass and leaves, bouncing over a few before resting beside the forgotten flowers, glittering in the afternoon light.

Parker and Jordan lingered, tears streaming down their faces as they looked into each other's eyes, unable and unwilling to let go, and a chill wind rushed through them, stirring the leaves and casting bright light through the shade of the trees, and then they were gone.

There was just the wind, and the Rowdies, and the fallen leaves swirling around their feet.

"Holy shit," said Amanda, and she hugged him, arms squeezing tight around his middle, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "That's over, right? They found each other again."

"Scary badass," said Cross, clapping her on the shoulder, and she dragged him into the hug -- Gripps, Vogel, and Rainbow launched themselves over to squish them into the middle, and Vogel laughed when Fluffernutter shoved her wet nose under his arm in an attempt to join in as well, Rapunzel wriggling between their legs to sit on Gripps's feet.

"Thanks, Drummer," murmured Martin against her hair, and she squeezed him tighter. "Y'savin' me again."

"Always will," she said, and he believed her.

The dogs sniffed around the stones as the Rowdies clambered over and around them, barking on occasional but mostly just snuffling through the leaves, and Amanda’s hand was warm in Martin’s as they headed toward the van. 

He flexed his empty hand -- the weight of the stone was gone, and he hadn’t realized how _ heavy _ it had been til just then-- 

_ “Miaow.” _

Martin stopped, and Amanda halted next to him, Vogel bumping right into Martin’s back and whooping as he changed his trajectory and wormed his way past them. “Y’hear that, Drummer?” 

“Hear what?” she said, and then the dogs were barking up a storm, the wind cold and sharp, and when Amanda dragged Martin around the next cluster of stones, they found the dogs wriggling on their bellies through the dead grass and leaves, tails wagging furiously. 

“Babies,” said Gripps, crouching besides Rapunzel and patting her back, and Cross laughed, pointing to the gravestone the dogs were so interested in. 

“Babies!” said the taller Rowdy, and that’s when Martin saw them. 

_ Kittens. _

Two of them. 

A black one, long-legged and spindly, hissing at Fluffernutter who had crept closer toward them, and a smaller white one with odd, curly hair. 

“Sheep baby,” said Gripps, and Cross was nodding, crouching next to him as Vogel ran over to see what was so interesting, Rainbow at his heels. “Sheep baby?” 

“Sheepish and all,” said Cross with another nod. 

“Oh, my god, they’re so _ small,” _ cooed Amanda, and Rainbow loped right past all of them and sat right in the dirt by the gravestone, scooping up the little white kitten. 

“Wee munchin’ kitkat,” she said, skritching the kitten’s belly with her fingers, and the kitten _ miaow _ed and batted at her hand. 

The black kitten launched itself up, clawing at Rainbow’s sleeve until it had gotten itself up into her arms, too, and batted at her hand until she skritched its head, purring contentedly. 

“So _ cute,” _ said Amanda, and Martin squeezed her hand. 

“They ain’t sleepin’ on my seat,” he grumbled. 

Amanda bumped her shoulder into his, and when he looked down she was grinning. “That’s a lie, and you know it.” 

Yeah, he did. 

Those kittens would be entangled in their lives just as quickly as any of them had joined the Rowdy ranks, he had no doubt of it -- he looked over to the Oh No Mobile, who was patiently waiting for them to return, and he grinned. 

Six Rowdies in a van? 

Pretty comfortable. A little tight on space sometimes, and lacking in _ personal space _ a lot of times, not that any of them had much of it to begin with, but comfortable. 

Six Rowdies, two dogs, and two cats? 

All of his family crowded close and safe, the howls of the dogs mingling with the roars of his Rowdies, and a rowdy kitten clawing her way up his sleeve because she liked to sit on his shoulder and watch the road while her sister kitten snoozed on Amanda’s lap?

Martin smiled, hands resting on the wheel, the wind in his hair and Cross teaching Vogel a terrible, crude song in the back under the sound of Rainbow’s snoring and Gripps snickering when Vogel made the lyrics more vulgar, and he was comfortable. 

Pretty damned comfortable for sure. 


End file.
